


My kind is not your kind

by Ayzilia



Series: Not my kind [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayzilia/pseuds/Ayzilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent’s friendship, as well as Batman and Superman’s partnership, dissolved years ago when the first wave of displaced Kryptonians arrived on Earth. Clark publically revealed himself as Superman and took a position of leadership among his people. Years later, the two have met to hammer out a treaty to hopefully ease some of the tensions, suspicion, and mistrust that have long since coalesced into a cold war between the species. That treaty is to be guaranteed with a marriage. Tim and Kon’s marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My kind is not your kind

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for a prompt over at the Tim/Kon Meme where this story was originally posted.

The negotiations had progressed at a glacier’s pace off and on for months. Three months, two weeks, four days to be precise. Tim felt his brow pinching up and his lips twitching into a frown. He inhaled and consciously relaxed his facial muscles—tried to exhale his unease and simply enjoy the feel of Dick’s protective arm slung across his shoulder after so many months apart. He couldn’t quite manage it.

Tim, Jason, Cass, and Damian had received Bruce’s summons yesterday evening and while Dick had pretty much assaulted all his siblings with physical affection the instant they disembarked the Wayne Jet, he’d latched onto Tim like one of Poison Ivy’s vines and hadn’t released him since. Now in the tense silence of the limo bearing his family downtown to the repurposed Daily Planet building, Tim bit the inside of his bottom lip as Dick used his one-armed hug to pull Tim even closer and press a kiss into his hair.

“Everything is going to work out,” Dick promised before resting his chin atop Tim’s head. Tim for his part looked straight ahead, watching as Cass’ eyes narrowed in response to whatever she read in all Bruce and Dick’s non-verbal tells.

“Dick, what’s going on?” Tim asked softly, “You’ve got me sc—ah, worried. A bit.”

Dick straightened up. In his peripheral vision, Tim could see Dick glaring blue death in Bruce’s direction.

Bruce frowned, “We concluded the negotiations with the Kryptonians.”

“No shit,” Jason grumbled, crossing his arms over his broad chest against the coming explanation for Bruce and Dick’s increasingly troubling manner, “We figured that one out for ourselves.”

Bruce quelled Jason with a strong look then plunged on, “We wanted the family here when the finished document is signed. To support…”

Worryingly, Bruce’s expression shifted. Just the tightening of a few muscles around his eyes, but suddenly Bruce looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Bruce?” Jason barked.

Dick brought his free hand to Tim’s chin and turned his head to look Tim in the eyes.

“I don’t think Bruce can say—,” Dick sighed, “We fought them on this, but the Kryptonians wouldn’t change their—well really his—position.”

“Kept invoking the importance of family,” Bruce grumbled to the tinted glass window. “Like I don’t understand—”

“Clark wanted insurance. Apparently we’ve made him a shade cynical over the years,” Dick smirked, but his eyes didn’t dance with their usual mirth.

“You’re skating around the issue,” Tim frowned. “What sort of insurance did he want?”

Dick’s hand flexed on his shoulder before he explained, “He wants you to marry his son, Kon-El.”

Tim blinked several times. Dick watched him closely with a concerned expression. Tim hardly heard Jason’s indignant squawk of “What the fuck?” and saw but didn’t truly register Cass’ bared teeth. His focus was turned inward, a deluge of a thousand rationalizations, possible contingency plans, and future projections all blurring into a  hum of images and thoughts and worries and—his stomach felt—his chest felt tight.

“I understand,” Tim distantly heard himself say in a dull flat tone, “There is a long history across many cultures attesting to the use of arranged marriages as a guarantee on treaties or similar arrangements.”

Bruce nodded. “A measure of each side’s commitment.”

Then his panic rushed in like color and the world refocused.

“But what about—? Dick told me just last week you got the ‘No Kryptonians in Gotham without my express permission’ clause! I’ll have to stay in Metropolis. With a guy I’ve never even met. And what  _about_ Gotham? What about my responsibilities as Robin?” Tim couldn’t stop the rush of words from escaping. In his mind’s eye he could see his family, all suited up in their protector’s garb, walking away. Heading back to Gotham, to his home, and leaving him behind.

He hadn’t felt this sort of panic constricting his rib cage since his parents had been trampled at a demonstration turned fear-crazed mob protesting the very first wave of Kryptonian colonization.

“Damian can take over as Robin.” Bruce announced, answering all of Tim’s fears in six simple words, one sentence, one moment. “He’s ready.”

Tim felt rage flush through his bones, congealing in his joints, making him ache. He fisted his hands in his lap. Damian straightened up from where he’d curled into himself at the far end of the limo. Jason continued to curse a blue streak.

“Really?” Damian asked, sounding more his ten years than he ever did.

“Bruce,” Dick growled. “Now is not the time.”

Bruce nodded again and trapped Tim in that intensely blue gaze. His eyes said so much more than his words ever could, but Tim found himself wholly unable to decipher the present message.

“Tim,” Bruce said gravely, “This is as important a responsibility as Robin ever was.”

~*~

Lights moodily off, Kon sat in the empty conference room idly dissembling and resembling a sleek fountain pen with his TTK and thinking much more deeply than he normally allowed himself to—as deep thoughts in his mind unavoidably led to brooding alone in dark rooms (check), awkward lagging conversations with Clark, teasing from Kara and Karen, or on especially epic occurrences, all three. Really he was just one stray thought fragment away from a full existential crisis, which he also fought tooth and nail to avoid.

All in all, he’d much rather be out partying in some manner or another than holed up drowning in his own stupid angst.

But today… he didn’t see any way around it. As soon as Wayne’s limo returned from the airstrip he’d be binding himself to the son of the man in control of one of the last entirely human (anti-Kryptonian) cities (factions) remaining. Kon got why this treaty was important—Wayne’s influence and suspicious nature had made life on the planet difficult for colonists for years. Not that he’d publically said much on the subject, but his actions sent a clear message: the Batman chasing every Kryptonian out of Gotham, pulling support from the Justice League, stockpiling Kryptonite, the list went on. Well, Bruce Wayne had his own stupid rationale, but Kon… Kon had some legitimate concerns in regards to dealing with humans. After all, they’d grown him in a test tube as an experiment to try to ‘further understand’ what they were ‘dealing with’ (a displaced people, not an invading force, jeez) and Kon thought he was allowed to maintain a certain degree of resentment as a result.

Clark had rescued him. Given him a name. Made him family. Locked Lex Luthor (sick fuck) up for playing God with sentient life. So what if he wasn’t human? Or even  _born_? He _thought_ …and therefore he was _._ Right? Of course it hadn’t helped species relations when a rogue Kryptonian assassinated Luthor upon his release from prison, but Kon had felt safer with the guy gone. More like a living being.

Now Clark was trying to secure him a future. Kon understood that.

But this whole situation still really just sucked.

~*~

Tim’s first impression upon entering the conference room filled with (apparently) his future in-laws surprised him.  As a member of Gotham’s most elite family of protectors Tim was unaccustomed to being intimidated, but _whoa big_. And intimidating. Superman (and really Tim knew both Dick and Bruce thought of him as Clark, but Tim found it hard to do the same with the way power just seemed to emanate off the guy) stood half a head taller than Bruce. Tim had lived and worked alongside superbly fit people his entire adolescence (had watched for longer still), but he boggled at the sheer size: thick neck, broad shoulders, huge arms…

And at Superman’s side—shorter jet black hair, same facial structure if still softened by youth, same unsettling blue blue eyes, same musculature, several inches taller than Tim and obviously still growing--stood a glaring Kon-El.

Tim’s eyes skittered over Kon’s form before glancing back up at his face and catching. Like a mirror image Tim vaguely felt his own eyes widen in time with Kon’s, who no longer glared. Rather, he now looked surprised with his wide eyes and slightly agape mouth.  Then Kon smirked and Tim yanked his gaze away, pretending instead to watch Bruce and Superman exchange grim handshakes and set smiles (they had been friends once some calm part of Tim’s mind informed him) and then Dick briefly hug Superman (Dick had once called Clark uncle, Tim recalled). At the forefront of Tim’s mind however, anxiety rushed in circles with panic, stopping only occasionally to flirt with betrayal or abandonment. Tim breathed deep through his nose and robotically sat between Dick and Cass when everyone else sat, calling on his Robin (not his anymore) training to keep the breaths steady. Bruce sat on the other side of Dick; Jason and then Damian on the other side of him. The Kryptonians settled across the wide honey-colored expanse of the table-top: Superman across from Bruce, Supergirl across from Dick, Power Girl across from Jason, Superboy across from Tim.

Tim pointedly did not look back at his future husband. Had his eyes really flashed red in the instant before that smirk? Tim had studied Kryptonians—Bruce hadn’t even had to insist the way he did with Jason and Damian. Tim had learned the language, understood what was known of the physiology. He knew laser vision was triggered by lust or anger. At the moment the idea of Kon-El acutely experiencing either of those emotions as a result of locking eyes with Tim…

Anxiety rose sharply from Tim’s twisting stomach, threatening to choke him. Tim fisted his hands in his lap and stared down at the wood grain of the table.

“Well, now that we’ve all been introduced,” Superman’s huge smile didn’t seem forced, but juxtaposed to Bruce and the Bats’ stoic demeanors (especially Jason’s outright hostile one) and even the other Kryptonians, Superman’s cheer came across as over the top and set the room on edge. On an even sharper edge that is. “Are there any amendments we need to discuss, or are we ready to throw open the doors to Lois and the reporters and get this thing signed and done?”

“Any amendments,” Bruce replied evenly, “Would mean another week at this table.”

“Right,” Superman agreed, still grinning. “I’ll take that as a ‘Get on with it Clark.’”

Bruce nodded in response and Superman looked significantly at Power Girl, who sighed and stood to fetch the press.

~*~

The last time Kon had been surrounded by this many humans they’d all been wearing white lab coats (except for Luthor in his purple suit jacket) and poking at him and jotting down notes on electronic tablets. And while dress jackets and evening gowns had replaced the lab wear, Kon felt just as observed and uncomfortable now as he had then. Only two things kept him at this stupid “Successful Signing” reception: Clark’s steady presence, fortifying even from across the room where the guy was still doling out sound bites for a gaggle of human (and one or two Kryptonian) reporters, and Tim. Not that Tim’s presence helped ease the nervous energy buzzing just under his skin. Just the opposite. But to his great annoyance, Kon couldn’t take his eyes away.

His new husband seemed to push every one of the buttons Kon didn’t even know he had, just by standing there (or not looking at him from across the table). Kon swept his eyes over Tim’s lean fit form again and had to bite down on the inside of his lip against the surge of want that spiked through him. Totally unaffected, Tim continued conversing softly with his two older brothers. Kon shoved his hands in the stupid dress pants Kara had blackmailed him into. Did Tim not feel it? This stupid spark driving Kon stupidly, annoyingly, freaking crazy? Tim had only looked at him once the whole damn stupid day (wide blue eyes in a pale fine-boned face) and his apparent shyness—which at first had seemed endearing and lit up every protector instinct in Kon’s copy cat DNA and generally made him act stupidly puppy-eager—was starting to make Kon suspicious. And pissed off.

Did he not live up to the little Gotham prince’s standards or something? Too good for a clone? Kon felt his nostrils flare a little and glared at Tim’s half-turned back. Well, too bad. They’d both signed the damn treaty and the additional marriage contract and the freaking marriage license—Tim was his now. Kon nodded to himself. He always got who he set his sights after, he would this time too, and when Tim was all starry-eyed and charmed by his awesomeness… well then Kon wouldn’t have to worry about the sneaky little human being up to anything nefarious. And Kon totally wouldn’t let himself get blinded by Tim’s hotness (really, being human and all Kon hadn’t been expecting much but Tim was smoking in the most unassuming of ways) and if he tried anything that would hurt him or Clark or Kara he’d sic Krypto on the stupid bat. Yes, good plan. Kon nodded to himself and watched how Tim’s soft black hair flopped into his face when he shook his head minutely at a beseeching Dick.

As Kon watched, the middle brother, Jason, scowled and punched Dick in the arm. Tim brought his hands up in a placating gesture.

Really the little dude was adorable. Kon smirked.

No, Kon frowned. He had to stay alert for sneaky behavior. Not get distracted by floppy hair… or beautifully dexterous fragile pale hands…

Oh shit, Tim was making his way across the room, painfully conscientious not to touch anyone even the slightest bit. Blue eyes flicked up from the floor to pin his and Kon felt just as winded this time as the last. Tim had his lips all pressed together in this thin tense line and what looked like a semi-permanent furrow of concentration or worry between his brows. Kon had to work to breathe deeply. He really wanted to run his fingers over those cheekbones, to smooth out that worry line, to trace that jaw line and tilt that perfect face up for a kiss.

Kon liked to touch. Clark theorized it had to do with being made in a test tube or his first power being tactile or (hey novel concept) both. Kon theorized he liked to touch because it just felt really freaking good. Especially when the touching involved a really hot chick. Or, heh, a freaking seductive human guy now standing just a scant centimeter outside of arm’s length.

“You were staring,” Tim spoke for the first time, his voice clear and somehow sharp despite how quietly he pitched his words. “Dick said I had to stop being anti-social and come talk to you.”

Kon decided he liked Dick. And he really liked having Tim’s eyes on him.

Tim crossed his arms over his chest. Hugging himself subtly. The thought distressed Kon (dammit he was getting all puppy stupid again) and wouldn’t freaking go away now that it’d popped into existence.

Tim frowned, “You know there are ways of watching people without being so obvious about it.”

Oh really? That so?

Kon smirked (his no-fail, go-to flirtation tool of epicness, just ask the Kryptonian ladies of Metropolis), “Yah? Heh, that mean you were watching me back, but with like ninja stealth skills?”

Tim’s hands flexed for a moment before his eyes narrowed.

“No,” he spit venom-sharp, “I was enjoying my time with my brothers. I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again.”

“Hey. Hey!” Kon protested, taken aback. He wiped his no-fail (fail) smirk off his face lickety-split.  “That’s not my fault! You can thank Papa Bat’s bigoted butt for that particular aspect of our situation.”

 “Bruce is just trying to protect Gotham,” Tim argued.

“From Kryptonians?!” Kon realized his hands were out of his pockets and fisted. He hated bats. He knew he hated bats. With their stupid human city and their stupid prejudiced paranoia.

Tim raised an eyebrow. How the fuck did he look so fucking calm (and gorgeous) when Kon could feel himself shaking with too much rage. His stupid grace and poise made Kon feel like an over-reacting oaf. Not fair. Not cool. Kon could feel his anger ratcheting up with every beat Tim let placidly pass.

“Your kind does seem to leave a great deal of destruction in your wake,” Tim stated in the ripened moment.

“You—”

Tim cut his protest short, “On average, a Super causes 6.31 thousand dollars worth of damage to public property per arrest. Granted that’s an average. But your last battle with, Mammoth was it?, cost the city of Memphis 867,933 dollars when the two of you managed to demolish half a courthouse.”

“Go back to your brothers.” Before I slip up and punch you and mess up your pretty face.

Tim’s face, his voice, went frosty, “You don’t get to give me orders.”

Kon ground his teeth and reminded himself of the press. With cameras. And stupid electronic tablets to jot down notes. “We’ll see, little buddy.”

Tim didn’t move a muscle. He looked hard and icy and totally unmovable. But Kon could hear the racing heart and smell the apprehension.

Kon felt his anger ebb. He sighed, an angry huff of air, “Go. You want to anyway.”

Tim breathed though his nose and glared with his eyes. If humans had laser vision (and Kon weren’t like invulnerable) Kon would totally be a disturbingly small pile of ash.

“Oh really, stop being obstinate!” Kon bit out.

Tim just continued to hold himself statue tense. He raised a single eyebrow at Kon’s small aborted movements.

“Fine!” Kon hissed (totally taking pity on the guy he told himself, not because Tim’s unnatural stillness and tightly controlled anxious energy was affecting him), “I’ll leave.”

And for good measure Kon floated up a few inches and flew across the room to where Kara stood snickering into a glass of punch.

~*~

If Tim bit down just a shade harder on the inside of his bottom lip, he’d break the skin, he knew. He could feel his nostrils flare slightly against the force of his strictly controlled breathing. His eyes tracked Kon’s progress (the most direct trajectory, flying along expecting people to clear out of his way) across the reception hall to his cousin over by the refreshments. He suddenly felt a warm weight on his shoulder. Dick’s hand. Competent and comforting.

Tim allowed himself to lean into the touch when Dick slid his hand across to grip the back of Tim’s neck. In need of some comfort knowingly or not, Tim half closed his eyes and released his lip from between his teeth when Dick began to rub his thumb in soothing circles.

Tim didn’t respond to the feel of Jason’s solid presence, always broadcasting his general annoyance with the world, coming up on his other side. Maybe a twitch of a smile. Maybe. Tim’d deny it unless confronted with security footage. Maybe even then. Just to frustrate his irritable big brother.

“Good job _dickwad_. Great idea. That looked like it went really well,” Jason griped over Tim’s head.

Dick sighed, “They have to talk sometime.”

“No, they really don’t,” Jason growled.

His brothers. His sister and the hellion (who Tim was vaguely tracking as they stalked each other around the room in a subtle game of tag). Tim thought about living day to day without their chatter and hugs and smiles and significant looks and teasing and yelling and pranks and _love_ and he blanched.

 “At some point—” Dick began in the most patient tone of voice in his repertoire.

Jason spoke right over him with no regard whatsoever, “Tim, I’m gonna outfit you with a Kryptonite chastity belt. Just give me a little bit of time to make sure it won’t give you some crazy cancer or something.”

The picture that brought to mind—Tim snorted softly.

“If you do you’ll be in violation of Article One, Paragraph Two,” Tim informed him dryly.

“Shouldn’t there be some kind of fucking exception if it’s in defense of the fucking innocent?” Jason demanded, some real anger and worry crowding out the teasing tone in his gravelly voice.

Tim wished he wouldn’t worry. There was nothing to be done.

“We’re married Jason,” he reiterated in all seriousness. Tim closed his eyes. Neither Tim nor Jason, nor Dick for that matter, could ignore what all that institution entailed. Tim again made a conscious effort to relax the muscles in his face (he could feel his brow knitting up) and applied his considerable focus to breathing out both his anxiety and his nervousness.

Tim’s eyes flew open to Jason’s smirking face when he felt rough fingers pinch his cheek like a stereotypical granny.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not innocent, baby bird,” Jay grinned.

Tim appreciated Jason’s attempted application of teasing (although Jason’s eyes remained as serious as a gravestone) to aid Tim’s struggle against his emotions. Really he did. So he played along as expected, swatting at Jason’s hand on his face and initiating a brief, light scuffle.

Dick laughed (but not pure, too etched with sorrow) as Jason expertly maneuvered Tim into a loose headlock. Grinning minutely (but openly this time), Tim let Jason manhandle him back over to their big brother.

“Pure as freshly fallen snow,” Jason sing-songed.

“ _Married_ snow,” Tim maintained.

Dick leaned down a bit, bringing his face on level with Tim’s where Jason still held him in place.

A blanket of gravity smothered Tim’s smile and Jason’s rumble-like chuckles.

“Tim, in all seriousness, you know that doesn’t mean anything  _has_ to happen, right?” Dick tried to affirm.

Tim watched Dick, not quite comprehending. Ok, yah, nothing had to happen right away, he got that. But he and Kon were married and…it did eventually. It just…did.

Dick’s face crumpled and he snatched Tim away from Jason to crush him against his chest.

“Tim,” Dick whispered into his hair, “Don’t do anything unless you want to. Simple as that. Don’t logic your way around it.”

“Or I don’t care what fucking article I’ll be violating,” Tim heard Jason grumble from behind him.

Tim pressed his forehead against Dick’s chest and endeavored to memorize every nuance of his brothers’ company.

Dick continued to murmur into his hair, “For what it’s worth Tim, I think you two have a lot of potential. Don’t let the crummy circumstances muck up the chemistry.”

Jason groaned dramatically and face palmed. Tim heard the distinct slap.

“I’ll try Dick, for you,” Tim promised.

“For yourself Timmy,” Dick corrected.

“Oh God! This is not a chick flick!” Jason exclaimed.

Dick pulled away slightly to blink total innocence at Jason over Tim’s head and reply, “But, chick flicks have happy endings Jason. Don’t you want a happy ending for our little brother?”

Tim’s choked laughter sounded a bit like a soft cough, but neither of his brothers called him on it. Dick grinned triumphantly and turned Tim around in his arms to face Jason and the room again. Jason tried to look menacing with his shoulders set and the corners of his lips sneaking upwards.

He stabbed a finger in Dick’s direction, “I hate you.”

Dick’s sputtering laughter joined Tim’s near silent mirth and Jason chortles, but too soon Bruce’s deep commanding voice (“Dick! Jason!”) cut across and halted all three. When Tim turned his head (the only part of his upper body Dick’s grip would allow him to move), Bruce looked grim. Not his usual, but grim for Bruce. His eyes hard and his jaw set. Power clear and present in the line of his shoulders. He couldn’t seem to look at Tim directly, all his fierce focus fixed on his older sons.

“We’re needed in Gotham,” he ordered, “Let’s move.”

Held against his brother as he was, Tim could feel Dick tense violently.

“Bruce!” Dick protested, but Bruce had already turned away and caught Damian by the back of his collar. Neither Dick nor Jason moved. Tim himself felt frozen, the core of his _being_ ripped out and gone.

Damian glanced back (his expression for once not hostile towards Tim) as Bruce tugged him towards the door. Then he jerked away from the grip, straightened his suit jacket and followed his father across the room in a more dignified manner. Cass ignored the hand Bruce jerked in her direction and made her way towards Tim instead. Tim blinked and she stood in front of him, her eyes solemn and sad. She lifted a hand to his cheek and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

Tim didn’t know what to say. Nothing in his head seemed adequate. Cass herself said nothing.

When she stepped back, Jason moved forward and took her place.

“Take care of yourself, baby bird.” Jason threatened, “Or I  _will_ beat your ass into next week. We clear?”

Tim could only nod.

“Good,” Jay said and then ruffled Tim’s hair (Tim scowled because the rules of their relationship required such) and then he and Cass walked away.

Dick’s turn to leave.

Tim bit his lip against the swell of fear and abandonment and heartbreak that seemed to literally crawl up his spine and crash its way into his chest, drowning his lungs. He closed his eyes, brought his hands up to Dick’s forearms and just… held on.

“I don’t think I can let go little brother,” Dick whispered. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Dick!” Bruce bellowed. The soft socialite chatter around the room fell hushed. Tim shuddered subtly against the feel dozens of eyes greedily taking in the drama.

“If you need me, call me up and I’ll be there for you,” Dick promised. Then he pressed one last kiss into Tim’s dark hair, tore his arms away, and left.

Tim looked up. His eyes skittered over the blank wash of faces and found Bruce by the door, waiting for Dick to reach him. Tim found Bruce’s eyes. Bruce looked away quickly.

And Tim stood alone, bereft, arms coming to rest still by his sides, to watch his family leave him behind.

~*~

_Stunned_ was hardly a powerful enough word to encompass the feeling flowing through Kon’s veins, growing more intense with each pump of his heart, but Kon couldn’t call upon his more advanced vocabulary with the fog of emotion sweeping through his mind as he watched Tim’s shoulders slump ever so slightly in the wake of his family’s departure. Slump and, just barely, start to shake.

Next to him Kara muttered, “You want an opening? There ya go.”

Kon turned to stare at her, wide-eyed. He might want Tim charmed (and therefore safely declawed, or untaloned, or whatever it was you did to dangerous birds, hooded maybe?), but he didn’t want to like take  _advantage_ of a shitty situation like this.

“Go!” Kara ordered, with a jerk of her head and quirk of her eyebrows, “Go comfort him.”

Right. Comfort. He could be comforting without feeling like a dirtbag. Could offer comfort without having sneaky motives. Theoretically. But as Kon studied the obvious gut-wrenching turmoil Tim Drake was trying to hold at bay—his eyes downcast, his body trembling, his expression pinched and hurting, his hands fisted and his chest heaving—Kon knew he honestly did want to help. So the guy was a bit of a tight-laced jerk, but… well, Kon didn’t want to see him hurt. He’d examine why later, now to just figure outhowto do this comfort thingwithout getting his head bitten off in the process.

Kon approached cautiously.

As he came closer, the shudders wrecking Tim’s tense body became more pronounced and obvious. Tim glared at the ground intensely and didn’t acknowledge Kon’s soft landing before him.

Kon cleared his throat awkwardly. Tim just turned his head a bit more away. Nervous, Kon nodded to himself, put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest.

“Uh, hey man.” He started. No response.

“Um…” Kon continued, “Ah, Look I couldn’t help but notice… your family. Sucks, man. I—ah—well… Are you ok?”

That got a response. Tim raised his head, his beautiful blue eyes filled with unshed tears, and glared unholy torment at Kon. The trembling increased. Kon could hear Tim’s breathing hitch and his heart fall all over itself trying to maintain the jackrabbit pace it’d set.

Kon deflated and brought his hands out in front of him. He back pedaled swiftly, “Ah, no you don’t have to answer that. That was a really stupid question, I mean—ah…”

Oh God, he was rambling like an idiot, but he didn’t know what to say, but he really wanted Tim to stop looking so wounded and start snarking again and if he could just put his hands on Tim’s shoulders to settle the shaking that was really starting to look painful and oh, he was so screwed.

Suddenly Tim softened. He relaxed his hands and straightened from his hunched over position. When he raised his now open face to Kon—well, Kon stopped breathing. Without the glare in those eyes, Tim looked so… so _vulnerable_.

And yah, Kon knew he was so screwed. Not in the fun way. Well maybe, hopefully, in the fun way, but also (really) he wanted Tim to look at him—hopeful, open,  _needy_ —like that again and again.

“Can—” Tim’s voice sounded wet. He stopped and cleared his throat (brought a hand up to his mouth when he did  so and Kon couldn’t help but find the polite gesture adorable where usually he’d have rolled his eyes)before continuing, “Can we just get out of here?”

Kon nodded and smiled cheerfully (comfortingly?) and Tim gave him the smallest possible smile in return before looking back down at the cherry wood floors, still shy, still trying not to cry.

Kon still wanted to get his hands on him. He wanted to show the dude how a Super hug compared to a stupid Bat hug. Wanted Tim pushing at Kon’s limits and making him lose his temper and looking at him with _trust_ and making him feel like the World’s Greatest Hero (genuine, not cloned) and generally just as wrapped around Kon’s finger and he was fast becoming wrapped around Tim’s.

And yah, unless he could get this feeling under wraps, he was totally and completely screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> End! For now… but yes, there is a sequel.


End file.
